


The Best part about Saying Goodbye

by Baby_Fangirl



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), The Mighty Nein - Fandom
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), F/F, Mighty Nein as Family, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha Friendship, POV Yasha (Critical Role), Yasha-centric (Critical Role), beauyasha - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baby_Fangirl/pseuds/Baby_Fangirl
Summary: Yasha prepares to leave the party to go on her own at the calling of the StormLord, but first, she takes a moment just to appreciate Beauregard.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Kudos: 42





	The Best part about Saying Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Critical Role Ficlet! I'm trying desperately to get back into writing. I love this pair.   
> I take constructive criticism (but also it's 12:18 and I've not slept yet!)
> 
> Please Enjoy!~ Sincerely, Baby Fangirl

The storm felt constant.

Like a long road when you make your first start on a tiresome journey; or a whole boar when you’re eating alone in a corner booth; both of which Yasha had found herself familiar with over the years.

Rain had lashed in thick, relentless sheets overlapping the hours until time blended into one thick blanket of dark cloud and raindrops, hammering in roars against the windows of the rented rooms a floor above the tavern. The others had all turned in shortly after nightfall. Molly and Fjord to a room, Caleb and Nott, and Jester and Beau had been generous enough to share their room; as Jester had so excitedly pointed out they could have a ‘girls night’. Whatever that entailed… Yasha had never yet had a night exclusively for the females of the races…

The Storm hadn’t left much open field for late-night chats and whispers however, the howling seemed to be creaking through every brick and stone in the walls, and quickly abandoning the attempts of badgering the ex-bouncer into revealing details of her childhood, Jester had climbed into bed to doodle in her book.

Beau had followed suit after an intense seven seconds of awkward silence aside from the scribbling of Jesters inks and quills, and the monk patted Yasha heavily on the shoulder before clambering into her own bunk, telling the woman not to stay up too late.

Yasha had nodded and whispered some half-assurance that she wouldn’t. Sure Beauregard hadn’t been able to hear her mutters anyway, and turned her heterochromatic eyes to the blackened sky as she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the long window, a sense of purpose coursing reluctantly through her veins with every crash of lightning that streaked the sky, like the flash of her own white hair dipping into the black tresses.

He always called her… seemingly when things started to settle. And Yasha knew better than to make plans by now, hope for some semblance of normality, knowing too well that the moment she began to get comfortable with a new lifestyle or routine, she would have to tear it up faster than she laid it down and go wherever she was called.

The storms would always tell her to go.

Like they called her to a new purpose; like the bolts where her own letters and mail; like now, sitting on the floor for so long, her calves and entire rear end had developed a numb sensation that felt like she couldn’t move even if she had wanted to.

It was a shame to have to pack up now, not that Yasha kept anything that wasn’t already on her person… but she had made connections with these people, this scraggly crew of outsiders who had managed to band together so effortlessly.

She envied her companion Mollymauk so, that he could so easily charm and endear his audience, make friends with anyone, give him three minutes, two pints and a deck of tarot cards and he had the whole bar owing him drinks and laughing, all the while with that smirk and twinkle in his eye.

Yasha wasn’t like that, people didn’t come naturally to her. She saw that in a few of these party members too, like Caleb, but he had Nott, she had… well, that wasn’t for her to figure out, Yasha had Yasha. That was the only certainty right now. But still, there was something about this party that had the barbarian casting some regret on leaving in the dead of night, and she glanced over her right shoulder, regarding the thin form of Beau in her bunk, covers pooling around her stomach as she slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the thunder crashes over their heads.

It’s then that Yasha managed to drag herself to her feet, finding balance in her unsteady legs, pausing just a moment to adjust to the blood flowing through her body again, bringing feeling back into her calves.

It was serene in the room, all still and all quiet besides the wind and the quiet snores of Jester in the bunk across the room.

Like she happened to be on autopilot, Yasha wandered towards Beau with the silence of a butterfly in the Summer, a somewhat endearing curiosity cast in those mismatched eyes as she took in the monks sleeping face. She had never seen Beau look so peaceful and a small grin pulled at the corner of her lips.

For a moment, Yasha wondered, that in the moments when she too succumbed to the sweet temptress of sleep, if she looked as dis-guarded and carefree as Beauregard. When she slept, did the thin fury line permanently etched across her temple cease to exist? Did her brows return to their normal place rather than scrunched down just above her eyes? Did the frown on her lips soften to the point where perhaps, she looked this peaceful.

Peaceful was a good look on Beau, not that there was anything wrong with the fierce determination she wore in combat; or the slightly judgemental grimace when dealing with something (or someone) unpleasant; or even the cocky smirk she obtained in the middle of showing off some cool skill with her staff, or after punching something incredibly hard.

As she was thinking on that topic, Beau’s hand seemed to clench a moment atop of her blankets, before relaxing, and Yasha might’ve sworn she had witness a slight triumphant grin twitch on the woman's lips before she nuzzled a little further into her pillow. Of course she must’ve been dreaming about pummelling a heinous fiend back into the dust from which he came.

A quiet, throaty chuckle barely ghosted Yasha’s lips, more like a humoured exhale than any form of laughter.

Yes, she got on well with Mollymauk, and it would feel like a bereavement to leave him behind after so many months of travelling by his side, growing used to his presence and his company, but something tugged… a genuine- sadness, albeit small, would reside in the woman’s chest at the prospect of leaving Beauregard.

Yasha leant forward and paused, a foot from Beau as her thoughts caught up to her actions, and she hovered, unsure of what she had been planning on doing. She watched as the monks eyes moved beneath the lids, still dreaming, of what, the Barbarian would never know. Her pale fingers grasped the hem of the beige blankets and pulled them carefully and slow, up the rest of Beaus body and tucked them secure under her chin.

Almost instantly, Beau rolled into the new-found warmth, snuggling beneath the covers, the quirk of a smile that had tingled in the corner of Yasha’s lips found a true hold, turning in a warmer grin that she couldn’t seem to replicate in ordinary situations.

This was what she was leaving behind; she could only hope that her calling to the Storm-Lord would be over and she would rejoin her new-found friends before long.

Her gaze cast back out to the window, the rain still pelting, but not as harsh as it had been for the last four hours, and Yasha figured she could still leave under the cloak of darkness. After all, she had never been too good at goodbyes.

It was a stupid word. Good-bye. Which part of saying goodbye actually felt good?

A strong warmth flooded the woman as she turned back after picking up her sword, glancing once more to the figure of Beau, now mostly draped in blanket that she’d cuddled into so that mostly her nose up was visible.

It was a strange sensation, like the answer to her question came as naturally as the words on the wind.

The best part of saying goodbye, was the excitement of knowing that one day, you’d get to say ‘Hi’ again.

And as a small glitter of something, something like hope, filled Yasha whole, she grinned, and began thinking about meeting Beau again, as she silently left the room.


End file.
